


Campfire Meals

by Zenith931



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 01:56:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenith931/pseuds/Zenith931
Summary: Just some funny banter in which my Inquisitor provides a meal for the crew.





	Campfire Meals

Cassandra collapsed into an exhausted heap by the fire. The tents had been pitched, the fire was lit, the bedrolls were unrolled, and it was finally time to breathe freely and relax. Varric sat on a log next to her, fiddling with Bianca. The log was large enough that his legs couldn’t touch the ground and he swing them unconsciously, making a thump-thump-thump noise as he toiled away on his girlfriend. Cassandra, on other days, might have snapped at Varric for the noise. However, the evening was quiet in the Emerald Graves, the forests were beautiful, and the day time fights with giant bears and Red Templars was exhausting. Cassandra basked in the relaxing heat of the fire and let Varric’s thumping-feet drift her to doze lazily.

A low growl started out softly, then slowly rose in a guttural crescendo. Cassandra jumped and looked over at the other end of Varric’s log. Dorian sat under his cloak with a miserable expression. He shrugged in a non-apologetic way, “We haven’t eaten since breakfast, and the little bits of dessicated meat and fruits isn’t enough to sustain a force like my own!” He whined at the end.

Cassandra immediately let out a disgusted noise, but sat up with a start as Aren entered the camp, holding a large, very dead pheasant by the feet. Varric looked up from his girlfriend, non-plussed, nodded with approval, and returned to his work. 

Dorian let out a disgusted noise that rivaled only Cassandra’s upon the sight of their dear Inquisitor holding a game fowl. “Please don’t tell me you expect us to eat that.”

Aren seated herself by the fire, setting her bow and quiver aside, and set to plucking the bird. She quirked a brow at Dorian, “I don’t expect you to do anything, but if you choose not to eat, then you should expect a swift kick the next time you whine about being hungry.”

Dorian groaned and stared into the fire, frowning and mumbling about southerners and their brutish ways. Varric looked at his log-partner and laughed, “C’mon sparkler, were you expecting servants with peeled grapes and little pieces of meat wrapped in pastry?”

With a snort, Dorian replied, “That would be preferred to the butchery occurring across the fire. How did you ever learn to hunt anyway? I thought you were a noblewoman.”

Aren smirked a little, “Woman, yes. Noble? Decidedly not… at least by my own approximation. My mother would argue vehemently otherwise.” Aren paused, flipping the bird over to feather the other side, “I accompanied my father and brothers on plenty of hunting trips. That’s how I learned how to use that,” she nodded her head over to the bow and quiver “as well as hunt, set a few traps, and learned some basic survival skills. I was a tomboy, to the chagrin of my mother, and about the only things I learned from the ‘young woman’s tutors’ she insisted on bringing me as a bit of cooking, how to dress properly, and how to say ‘screw you’ in such a way others thought it was a complement.”

Dorian laughed heartily, “The would explain the wordcraft. I so would love to see your work at a Tevinter party.”

Aren grinned almost wolfishly. “After all of this, we’ll make a trip to Tevinter.”

Dorian’s expression brightened before turning sour quickly as Aren drew a dagger and gutted the bird. She reached in a drew out the entrails. He looked at her hand coated in viscera and his complexion turned a bit green.

Cassandra reached forward and snatched a few organs from the pile before Aren tossed them into the fire. “These are the best parts! I’ll never understand why Free Marchers have such peculiar tastes in food.”

As if called upon, Varric looked up with a defensive frown, “There isn’t any reason to insult half the party, Seeker.” He winked conspiratorially at Aren, who smiled at the bit of comraderie.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, gathered the cooking pot and a few herbs and vegetables they had scavenged from earlier. “I’ll take care of cooking that, Inquisitor. Another night of roasted beast is tiring. Let me show you a Nevarran dish.”

Aren laughed and handed the cleaned carcass over to the Seeker. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook, Cassandra. I thought you were a noblewoman.” She intoned the last sentence pointedly at Dorian who rolled his eyes, his complexion having returned to a normal hue.

The response Cassandra gave was a haughty shrug. “I was a noblewoman. But I am also a Seeker. As a Seeker, we must be able to be self-sufficient in completing our quests. Whether this means we are proficient at cooking or locating decent inns is left for us to decide. I chose to be more self-sufficient and prepare my own food than to rely on inns which may or may not be sympathetic to ‘glorified templars.’” She scowled a bit at the end, as it was evident this was a slur she had experienced with. She lifted the pot onto the fire after adding a few generous pours of ale. Varric’s foot tipped the end of the bottle a bit more as she poured it in. He nodded in approval as Cassandra appraised the mostly-empty bottle and drank it in a gulp.

The Inquisitor’s eyes flickered in amusement as she leaned back on her pack next to Cassandra. “We’re quite a pair of misfit noble ladies, Cassandra.” 

The Seeker nodded in acceptance, handing the Inquisitor a fresh bottle of wine. The Inquisitor took it with a friendly nod, took a hearty drink, and handed it to Dorian. Gratefully, he took the bottle and did the same. 

The rest of the night was spent chatting about their uncommon backgrounds and sharing alcohol. The Nevarran dish was devoured and even earned a begrudging complement from Dorian.


End file.
